


(Die Tonight)

by qtlymakingnoise



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qtlymakingnoise/pseuds/qtlymakingnoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is young, but old enough to know better. He knows that this, this entire thing with Brendon, it's a bad idea. It could endanger the band, ruin his relationship with one of his best friends; everything is at stake. He knows better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Die Tonight)

**  
Is "young" a word for dumb, a word for fun?**  
  
Ryan is young, but old enough to know better. He knows that this, this entire thing with Brendon, it's a bad idea. It could endanger the band, ruin his relationship with one of his best friends; everything is at stake. He knows better.  
  
But Brendon. He's young, too. He's innocent, maybe not in the physical sense, but he smiles without restraint, and he laughs loudly, without care about what other people think. He's full of life, and loud, echoing off the corners of the room. He's a big, bright, singing rainbow where Ryan is a dull cloud. He's everything that Ryan is not.  
  
He's fun.  
  
He makes silly jokes and tickles people he doesn't know.  He has no idea of personal space, and he thinks up ridiculous ideas and doesn't let them go until the next one comes along.  He's loyal, he loves hard, to a fault.    
  
Brendon is flamboyant and obnoxious, always at one hundred and ten percent.  Ryan thinks he likes this about him.  
  
  
 **We have the time of our lives, every night/like it's our job to lose our minds.**  
  
They sneak out of the venue after the show, even skipping showers.  Ryan has barely broken a sweat, but Brendon's shirt is soaked through, woody body odor wafting off of him in sheets.  Ryan thinks this is disgusting, but also doesn't mind.  He's kind of a fan of the way Brendon smells, BO and all.  
  
Spencer and Jon don't know where they went, and Ryan thinks there is something to be said for running away for a little while.  He understands why children do it after a fight with their parents, and why teenagers do it when the stifling restrictions become too much, overwhelming.  Ryan almost wishes he could have that.  When he ran away, it was never because his parents were too strict.  
  
Brendon is skipping next to him, actually skipping, dancing along to the beat in his head, pulling Ryan along, tugging at his arm as he spins himself under it.  Ryan wonders at his energy after such a keyed-up show.    
  
"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan," Brendon says, almost whispers as he pulls himself against Ryan's chest.  "Ryan, you should dance with me."  
  
Ryan smiles at Brendon's request and shakes his head, laughing under his breath.    
  
"But a girl as pretty as I am should never dance alone!"  Brendon flutters his eyelashes and places the back of his hand against his forehead, swooning, dropping his weight for Ryan to catch.  
  
Ryan catches, and Brendon lifts his head up to press a light kiss against his neck.  
  
"Ryan," Brendon whispers, breath fanning against his ear, heating the side of his face,  "Dance with me."  
  
Ryan dances, lets the blood pump through his veins, feels it flood his cheeks in warm blooms, and thinks that life couldn't really get any better.  
  
  
 **But if I were to die tonight would you cry?/or deny my place in your life?**  
  
Brendon is standing on the edge of the balcony, and Ryan thinks his heart is beating out of his chest.  He thinks that it must be visible to anybody, must be able to see it through his shirt, because he can feel it in his head, in the tips of his toes, can feel it pulsing away in the palms of his hands.    
  
He is absolutely _fucking_ terrified.  
  
"Brendon?"  His voice is shaking, wavering, unsteady, and he doesn't know if it's worth the effort to try and keep it straight.  He doubts he could, even if his life depended on it.  Or Brendon's.  Holy shit.  "What are you doing?  Get down from there."  
  
Brendon turns, sways on his feet slightly, and Ryan thinks he might scream.  He can feel it building up in his throat, clogging his airway.  He thinks he might choke.  "Why?  Why should I get down?"  His voice is all wrong, dreamy, darker, completely un-Brendon that Ryan doesn't know if he would be able to recognize it if he couldn't see Brendon's perfect lips forming the words, releasing them into the cold air, not penetrating the glass that separates Ryan and Brendon from the party of friends and acquaintances.    
  
"Brendon, please.  Just get down.  We'll talk about it as soon as you get down."    
  
Then Brendon's voice is intense, quaking and concentrated, dagger sharp.  He can feel the point against his throat, and he wonders if it would relieve the choking sensation.  "What would you do if I jumped?  Would you cry?  Would you mourn me?  Or would you pretend I never happened, that _we_ never happened?  How long would it be before your legs are open for somebody else?"    
  
"Bren-"  
  
"Hmm?  Answer me!  What would you do, Ryan? _What would you do_?"  Brendon spits the words out, and Ryan almost wonders who gave Brendon whatever he's on. Almost.  
  
"Just get down!  Just get down, and we'll be able to talk!"  Ryan can feel his hands shaking, can feel his stomach twist up into impenetrable knots, and he can't quite remember what it felt like when Brendon was safely on the ground.

"Not until you answer me!  What if I jumped, Ry?  Or tripped?  What if I tripped, fell to my death, and you heard my skull crack on the fucking sidewalk?  What would you do if I died tonight?"  
  
"I would die with you!  Now get your goddamn ass down from there!"

Brendon holds out his hand for assistance.  Ryan grips his hand tightly, helps him down onto the floor.  Three steps away from the ledge, onto solid ground, Ryan pushes him, hard.  He hears the _thud_ of Brendon landing heavily on the floor, and turns, opening the glass door and slamming it behind him, letting the glass shake in his wake.  
  
  
 **I'm aware that you're scared/of my heart, what is there?**  
  
Brendon is pushing into him, surrounding him everywhere.  There is nothing but _BrendonBrendonBrendon_ in the air around him, no sounds but his heavy breathing and erotic grunts and quiet, barely contained moans, the only smell is his sweat, his breath, spreading across Ryan's face, the sex, scent heavy in the room.  This has to be perfection.  
  
With Brendon here, there, in him, outside him, _all around him,_ it couldn't get better.  Ryan feels complete, whole, like before he was missing something, a vital part of him, a limb, and he didn't know it was missing until now.  He never wants this to end.  
  
But he can feel it building in the base of his spine, radiating outwards, until the dam breaks, and he's done for.  He's coming so hard that he sees white, pure, blissful white.  When it's over, when he's panting for breath, trying to regain some semblance of sense, he realizes that Brendon must have come while he had been out of it.  He's a little sad that he missed it, because that had to be his favorite part of sex with Brendon, the sheer intimacy and beauty of watching Brendon lose himself completely.  
  
Brendon goes to pull out, and Ryan stills him with firm, slightly shaky hands to his ass, legs wrapping around his waist.  He doesn't think he's ready to let go, yet.  Brendon stays for a second, pets a hand across Ryan's hair, and pulls out with a grunt.  Ryan winces and wishes that he could forget about the way Brendon had felt inside him; in contrast, the emptiness seems even more echoing.  
  
  
 **  
Every night, it's the same, go to sleep with our blame/And a shame, it's enough/To seperate us/But we can't help ourselves.**  
  
Brendon and Ryan have both had girls to keep them a secret.  Audrey and Jac, Keltie, others that didn't last as long, never got publicity.  They never really knew that it was a sham, something contrived to keep a secret.    
  
Ryan kind of hates himself sometimes for the things he's done.  He hurts everyone he touches, it seems, like some kind of fucked up Midas.    
  
But even so, even with Brendon's eyes that plead to let someone, their friends, _anyone_ that doesn't live with them for months out of the year, know, Ryan can't bring himself to do it.  He can't bring himself to face it, face everyone with something that could cause so much pain.  
   
He tells himself that he isn't ashamed, and he isn't.  Brendon is nothing to be ashamed of.    
  
But still.  
  
Sometimes, it scares him, how much he feels for Brendon.  He can still remember the shaking in his hands and his heart and his head when Brendon was standing on that balcony, just waiting for a strong gust of wind in either direction, to Ryan's arms, or the sidewalk.  He can feel the ghost of Brendon's hand against his, can feel the breeze that tickled his shirt on his arms, can see Brendon so close to the edge.  He never wants to experience something like that again.  
  
And then there are the haunting thoughts.  What if it's different for him?  They've never been explicitly stated, just _were_.  Ryan hated labels, and Brendon hated anything that Ryan didn't like.  So it worked well for them.  But now, he can feel it coming back to bite him in the ass.  
  
So he keeps quiet, and remembers how cold it is to sleep without Brendon wrapped around him.  
  
  
 **We're in love and it really hurts when it's wrong**  
  
The screen flickers _Brendon calling_ against a picture of Brendon sticking his tongue out at the camera, Ryan looking at him with a rare genuine smile caught on film.    
  
Ryan sighs, and presses the glowing red button.  He turns to Jon, bites his lips, contemplates his words before he speaks, thinks about the terrible feeling in his stomach when Brendon's body swayed toward the edge, thinks about how hollow he feels when Brendon pulls out of him, away from him, leaving him vulnerable to attack, without protection.  Then he speaks.  
  
"What do you think about doing our own thing for awhile?"


End file.
